


War Orphans

by CloeLockless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 18-year-olds, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, But No Eighth Year House, Comfort, Coming of Age, Community: rarepair_shorts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, No Homophobia, Post-War Hogwarts, Some Sex, With Hints of Romantic Tension, bisexual awakening, boys falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloeLockless/pseuds/CloeLockless
Summary: Dean is sick of the atmosphere at Hogwarts after the war and decides to make friends with Malfoy to prove that they can all move on. He gets more than he bargained for.





	1. the decline of all things

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to J. K. Rowling & her publishers.
> 
> AN: This series was written in 2013 for the rarepair-shorts challenge, based on prompt table #2, claiming Dean/Draco. The first chapter didn't have enough Dean/Draco-ness proper to be posted on rarepair-shorts, but I needed it to set the mood. It's sort of a prologue. Since it was supposed to be a series of ficlets and drabbles, the chapters are fairly short, but they were written as chapters of a coherent story.
> 
> Also, English isn't the language I typically write in. Feel free to let me know if some sentences don't make sense!
> 
> The title of the story comes from a Bobo Stenson Trio album. The chapter titles are from the prompt table.

Dean turned over the piece of paper on which he had been sketching an uninteresting apple core, glancing over at Parvati who was sitting at the other side of the breakfast table, not quite facing him. She was gazing out into nothing, holding her cup of pumpkin juice with both hands, her braid falling neatly over her right shoulder, ebony black on black school robe. She would always eventually freeze into this pose whenever their breakfast dragged unnecessarily on; she would sigh and look away, a melancholy Indian statue. She wasn’t the same since Lavender had died. She interacted with others like a sleep-walker—it took a lot of watching to notice it—and Dean was even under the impression that she avoided her sister as much as she could get away with. There was nothing he could do but take his pencil and, without a word, try to sketch that expression of hers away.

Hogwarts was no fun without Seamus. He was the only guy of his year in Gryffindor to come back for seventh year. Seamus had popped by in the fall to take some quick exam whilst the other three had left for Auror training; he knew the guys in Ginny’s year a little, but it just sucked. All through the fall they had been torn between talking about the war and not talking about it, trying to get on with their lives but not quite succeeding. There was this unspoken rule that you had to be friends with everyone in your House just because you were on the same side during the war; the inter-house rivalry didn’t mean anything anymore, though some first years were sometimes seen talking enthusiastically near the giant hourglasses. Quidditch was about whether Ginny wanted to play Chaser or Seeker, or playing nice with the younger kids who had to fill in the gaps in the teams; it was hard to vent.

It wasn’t even possible to bash the Slytherins like before. As weeks went by, Dean had realized that the fights that broke out in the corridors weren’t the same. The green-and-silver gits were abused and attacked for no other reason than personal vengeance, though a vast majority of those who had come back to Hogwarts were never “on the wrong side”. The old, healthy animosity was now suffused with bitter resentment and malevolence, genuine rancor that wanted a target. None of the seventh years had come back apart from Malfoy, who probably didn’t have a choice, and Hermione had lectured them enough for them to stop talking about him behind his back. He had helped them win the war, in a way.

So Dean met up with his friends on Hogsmeade weekends and bode his time. The only bright side he found to the new scheme of things and the end-of-all-times atmosphere was that he was free to experiment and try whatever crossed his mind, like flirting with Justin Finch-Fletcher who sat next to him in Transfiguration in November. The Hufflepuff was the one who’d started it, and Dean had found he didn’t mind playing along. It had been a short-lived experience as the guy was only not unattractive to Dean’s taste, and he talked way too much about the bitter pride of being a muggle-born. At least it had broadened Dean’s scope. He had given it a shot with Parvati at the beginning of the year, but had quickly realized it wouldn’t work. Instead, the two of them had grown close, something he found a little sad whenever he thought about Lavender, but he was glad that at least they had each other and she didn’t pretend with him, though it killed him that he couldn’t do anything for her.

Parvati stirred and said she was going to check something at the library before class. Dean tucked away his parchment and started to draw an impression of the Slytherin table.


	2. what's his name

When Dean and the other red-and-gold seventh-year Quidditch players stole into the Charms classroom, Flitwick had apparently begun his lecture, but some people were still rummaging through their bags, opening their ink bottles, settling down. He made a bee-line for the seat Parvati had saved him in the back row.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked in a breath as he pulled out his quills and parchment.

“We have an extensive research essay to write for a month from now, he talked about the exams,” she listed in a slow, quiet voice. “And now he’s still answering some questions about the spells we had to work on.”

Dean nodded. “OK.”

“You did miss a spectacular row in the corridor just before class, though.”

“A row?”

“Yes,” Parvati said. “Bradley and what’s-her-face were bitching about Malfoy again—Hermione pulled quite a stunt.”

Dean heaved a sigh. _“Leave him alone, he doesn’t deserve it, everyone deserves a chance?”_ he tried to guess. He scanned the room and saw Malfoy wasn’t there. In the front row, Hermione looked a little tense, but she was listening intently to the beginning of the lecture.

“‘The war is over. Give it a _fucking_ rest.’” Parvati quoted.

Dean turned to look at her, gobsmacked. “She said what?”

“Well, maybe I’m the one adding the F word, but that was definitely the spirit. I haven’t heard her yell so loud since… I don’t know.”

Dean took a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

“The war is over,” he repeated under his breath. “I wish I could have said that one.”

He could feel Parvati was tense, too. He meant to ask her where Malfoy was, but then he saw she was shaking.

He looked away, staring at his notes, and then he slipped an arm round her back. She was crying, barely audible, and he itched to hold her close. He glanced at her again but she said she would be fine, and they both went back to the Charms lesson.


	3. quoth the raven

They talked about Hermione’s stunt over dinner that evening. Luna was the only one to say out loud that Hermione had been right to snap, but they all more or less agreed that the gratuitous insults and pointless bashing were getting tiresome—even Ginny, who wasn’t Malfoy’s best supporter.

“I wish I’d been there,” Dean told Hermione when they left for double Transfiguration. “We’d have yelled together.”

She gave him a weak smile.

“I’m just glad I have the NEWTs to worry about.”

The incident got him thinking. He kept replaying the scene in his mind, although he hadn’t been there. The war wasn’t going to be over anytime soon if things went on like that.

He watched Malfoy for the next couple of days. The guy looked exhausted and constantly on edge. He was always alone, with an obvious space between him and his fellow human beings, even at the Slytherin table; in Charms, people only paired up with him if they were made to and he supposed it must be the same in his other classes. He thought he saw him talk with a younger Ravenclaw girl once, but that was all.

By Thursday evening he had made up his mind.

…

He made sure he wasn’t late on Friday morning’s session and entered the Charms classroom hoping Malfoy would be there, early as he usually was. A couple of students were already there, too, and Malfoy was sitting at the far end of the hemicycle. Dean remained casual, and casually walked to the back, as he always did, only this time deliberately going to sit next to Malfoy.

“No one’s sitting here?” he asked expecting no answer.

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t utter a word as Dean dropped his bag at his feet and sat down. Neither spoke for a minute.

“Why are you sitting here?” he heard the blond ask after a while, his voice low, almost a hiss.

“Because.” was his answer.

“Right,” Malfoy said. He was silent then, but Dean could tell he wasn’t happy nor comfortable at all. Others were trickling into the room, some looking at them twice, but Charms was the most crowded Newt-level class so they did not stand out that much; it wasn’t that odd that someone should sit next to him. Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t just anyone, as far as Malfoy was concerned. That was the point.

“Look,” Dean said, annoyed that Malfoy was so stiff. “Let’s not make a big deal out of this…”

“How can you bare to sit next to me, you of all people?” Malfoy hissed so that only he could hear through the hum of the other students settling down, growing louder as the room filled up.

“I just can,” Dean said, fighting back something that was threatening to creep up. “I barely ever saw you back then. You weren’t part of it.”

Malfoy looked at him warily.

“Luna thinks the same, you know,” Dean went on, ignoring him. “And anyway… I need some closure.”

He wasn’t sure where that one had come from but it felt oddly relieving to say it. Malfoy didn’t reply and remained tight-lipped, absorbing himself in his parchment and quill. Flitwick was done talking with Hermione and her Ravenclaw counterpart about some point or other of the theory. The silence between them was still uncomfortable so he had to talk again:

“Do you need the notes from last session?”

“No,” Malfoy said slowly, a little more calmly. “Granger gave me a copy of hers in Arithmancy. Thanks.”

Dean nodded, glad he didn’t have to do what he had offered as his notes were full of drawings he didn’t want to share just yet. The discussion of the research and practice they had to do began, and by the end of the session Dean had drawn a pretty big Thestral around his notes. He had caught Malfoy glancing at his drawing once, but nothing more was said.


	4. as a city upon a hill

It took a while for Draco to loosen up and not look like he wanted to die every time Dean went to sit next to him, and Dean had to give him some space. The whole being-locked-up-in-the-Malfoy-cellar business burst up more than once as Dean found that it was being even harder for the blond to come to terms with it than it was for him; whilst Dean and Luna had had other Death Eaters to worry about back then, Malfoy had lived weeks with the knowledge that there were schoolmates of his being tortured downstairs—people his age, people he knew. Dean had reminded him that he had tried to cover up for Harry (something he had learned during one of their “Gryffi-97 high-school reunion” in Hogsmeade) but all he said was that it wasn’t an act of bravery but one of pure denial; he was a complete coward. Self-deprecating shit.

Nonetheless, sitting together in Charms soon became a habit. They didn’t talk all too much, but they began to exchange frustrated comments whenever a spell was too complex to perform or to share a piece of advice when one of them got the trick quicker. When Parvati had asked what he was doing, he had said that he was making friends—slash—making a point; when Justin had asked why he was being friendly to a bastard who thought he was nothing but a filthy mudblood, Dean had said that actually _Justin_ was the only one who cared about his blood status anymore. He was glad nothing much had happened with that wanker. 

Draco wasn’t that bad, as Dean had hoped he wouldn’t be. They became study partners for Charms, which was a nice change given that he didn’t like studying with his dorm mates that much, and being with the girls all the time was driving him crazy.

When the Slytherin showed up in Transfiguration one day—though he had dropped the subject for months—and walked straight to the back of the class to sit next to Dean, the Gryffindor felt like he was finally winning one over the war.


	5. meanwhile

It was hailing outside. The high windows of the library were charmed to be sound-proof but you could _feel_ the cold, rough prattling in the slight darkening of the light. The other boy shivered and glanced at the window, frowning when he made out the size of the hailstones.

“Quidditch training is going to be nice,” he mumbled before returning to his Charms book.

Draco nodded. He watched absently as his classmate ran a hand over the lines of the page he was summing up while scratching down a note. He tensed and straightened up when he realized his gaze was lingering on the coffee-colored fingers clutched around the quill. He had to stop doing that.

Thomas had beautiful hands. Draco couldn’t help being transfixed every time he saw him doodle. You couldn’t call it doodling really; it was always much more than just vague shapes and patterns. His quill moved on the parchment as if he were following invisible lines only he could see; even his messy handwriting had a signature twist to it.

They had been hanging out more and more often, but Draco still wasn’t completely comfortable with him. It had been pure guilt at first—just looking him in the eye made him want to crawl into a hole and die—but then the guilt had started to fade away. There were no hard feelings between them, though it still seemed hard to believe, and they both wanted to move on—or at least they tried their best.

But he was tall, taller than him, and Draco kept finding himself staring at the long, curving L line that went from the tip of his thumb to the tip of his forefinger, separating chocolate brown from paler skin…

And he was doing it again.

He liked him. He liked hanging out with him. It was nice not to be alone all the time. He had to cool down.


	6. unidentified falling object

The lunch table was filled with books, late homework, and Transfiguration exercises; Hermione was puzzling over some rune translation and Dean was casting glances her way to memorize how her hair puffed out with her holding it up like that, with both heels of her hands supporting her temples. He would make an awesome three-wise-monkey picture later.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy walk to the Slytherin table, putting together a sandwich without sitting down. Their eyes met and his new friend nodded briefly to say hi. Then he left, probably to go to the library. They didn’t have any classes together that day, so it must be his double Potions, double Arithmancy day.

For some obscure reason he felt a strong urge to go after him, see what he was up to. When someone asked something about the DADA mock-exam, he took it as a cue to get going.

Ginny had told him a while ago—in another life, it seemed—that he was too clingy, always checking on her. That was why she had broken up with him (well, at least that was her pretext for ditching him as soon as she felt there was an opening with Harry); and _why_ he was thinking about that now, when he just wanted to see if he was right in assuming Malfoy was going to the library, was just… not completely straight. This Malfoy business was getting a little too ambiguous.

He found he didn’t care. Malfoy was good-looking, and they weren’t really best mates so it was healthy infatuation. In fact, he liked the idea of flirting and-what-more much better than being friends in the long run.

He had to get to the library very soon or next he would be thinking about _relationships_. Jesus.

He bit his grin when he got to the Advanced Arithmancy section. The tosser was there, browsing through a book but still not sitting down; like he was about to, but too absorbed in whatever chapter he was looking at to get on with it.

So he would like to give it a try and hit on Draco... All technicalities and history aside, he liked feeling this way—having nothing else on his mind but “what to do next?”

He watched some more and then pretended he had come to the library to check something for the NEWTs too.


	7. invisible line

The thing was he couldn’t focus on anything else, and he had no idea how to proceed. He kept doodling wild magical creatures in Charms and staring at him whenever they studied together. Like now.

“Draco?”

The blond’s head snapped up; he stared at him with wide eyes, and it took Dean a beat to realize it was the first time he had ever called him by his first name.

“Er…” _Nice._

“You just…”

Dean pulled himself together. “It doesn’t feel right to keep calling you by your last name, so…” He paused and frowned. “You can call me Dean by the way, seeing that we’re here all the time…”

The other boy seemed stunned. Was it that weird?

“So Malfoy,” Dean tried again cautiously. The blond seemed to come back to his senses; he shook his head.

“You can call me Draco, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s just that…” He snorted at the absurdity of his own reaction. “I hadn’t heard my first name in a while. Wasn’t expecting it.”

Dean’s eyebrows flew up to the sky.

“Never mind…,” Draco said awkwardly. “You were saying?”

But Dean couldn’t remember. He shook his head in disbelief.

“I forgot,” he snorted. “Something about Charms, obviously.”

Not too far next to him around the table, Draco was watching him intently, his eyes flicking from his face to the open book on which Dean’s fingers were tapping lightly. Dean frowned thoughtfully. He had seen the other boy look at him this way several times, and now that he thought about it… He glanced over his shoulder, checking that there was no one in sight, and turned to look at Draco in the eye.

“Do you want to be friends?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you want us to be friends?”

Draco’s brows knitted into a wary frown.

“Start making more sense, Thomas.”

His tone made Dean’s heart race a little. He took a short breath in and just went for it.

“I’m bi, and I’m not sure I want to be friends… with you.”

And Draco was dumbstruck again.

“We can be friends,” Dean said, unable to stop now. “It’s not like I’m going to jump you or anything. I just wanted to tell you… Er, you okay?”

Draco blinked. “You’re bi?” he croaked, clearing his throat when he heard what it sounded like.

“Yeah…”

Dean felt a crazy little lurch in his stomach as the idea that Draco might not mind what he had just said crept further and further into his head. He itched to just ask him out, but he refrained and waited to see what would happen. Besides, he would be a bit redundant if he did.

When Draco still sat half-gaping at him, looking as though he had been spelled frozen, Dean couldn’t wait any longer. He leant up a little from his chair and inched closer to Draco, his fingers coming to brush against the pale skin, his breath ghosting over the corner of the other boy’s mouth. He slid past his cheek, and his nose and lips brushed against Draco’s ear. He felt the blond shudder, but he didn’t move or push him away. Yet.

A hand settled on his arm and made him draw back a little. He caught his eye briefly, and then the hand was on his neck and their lips touched.


	8. swirling to nowhere

They packed their stuff and walked out of the library nearly an hour earlier than they had originally planned to. They still had a couple of days left to finish that chapter so it didn’t matter, and Dean was happy to oblige. Draco looked his usual shuttered self as they finally reached the exit and walked out into the dark, chilly corridor.

“Where do you want to go?” Dean asked, still half-whispering though they weren’t in the library anymore. Draco looked around and walked over to a tapestry at the other end of the corridor. He pressed his hands against the thick fabric until he found the opening he was looking for.

“Over here.”

Dean followed him into what appeared to be a hidden stairway. Draco had lit his wand and stopped a couple of steps down.

“Short-cut to the Potions lab,” he said. “I found it a while ago.”

He had dropped his bag at his feet, so Dean did the same. They looked at each other. He watched as an amused smile broke on Draco’s face and only then did realize that he was grinning like silly. He shook his head. Then he stepped over to Draco and their lips met for a real, private kiss.

Apparently chaste was on neither of their agendas. Within seconds, they were nipping at each other’s lips, and flicking their tongues teasingly against one another’s. It was a far cry from the gross, messy or clumsy first kisses Dean had experienced in his earlier teens, and he had to chuckle against Draco’s mouth; this felt so right; “not being friends” was the best idea he ever had. There was a brief pause when Draco tucked his wand away before drawing Dean closer with both hands just above his waist; their legs touched, their hands wandered, Dean set about to explore the feel of Draco’s skin in the dark, tracing his neck and cheeks with his fingers as they found a pace that made them both shudder.

The kiss deepened and Dean felt dizzy; Draco’s hand now on the side of his neck, and the other one that had settled on his waistband were miraculous. He wanted to drown into him.

“So you’re not straight?” Dean said under his breath.

“Of course not, _Dean_.”

Still in a daze, Dean shook his head at his own stupid question and started to make up for it by putting his tongue to better use and kissing him again.


	9. only not

They didn’t meet up more often than before. They just spent more time glancing at each other over text books, brushing hands, touching feet under the library table whenever they sat across from each other to get some work done. They sneaked away to the hidden stairway a number of times, and Dean was feeling lighter than he had been in ages. However, as a new week began and he was paying more and more attention to the Slytherin, he noticed that the other boy looked tired and paler than he should be.

“Draco”

The blond looked up. “What?”

“Is everything ok?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You look… strained.”

“Oh. Am I not always.”

Dean shot him an obvious look. Draco didn’t play thick long.

“I’m not sleeping well, is all.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Draco shook his head. “Nothing new.”

“Were you at the hospital wing this morning? I saw you there a couple times before.”

Draco frowned, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said. “I sleep there sometimes.”

It was Dean’s turn to frown. “What’s wrong with your dorms?”

“They’re full of edgy Slytherins?”

“Oh.”

There was a pause. Then Dean spoke again.

“Want to come to my dorms?” he tried, once he had gone over the potential obstacles.

Draco snorted and shook his head. “I’d love to, pumpkin, but they’re _Gryffindor_ dorms.”

“No, it can work,” Dean said, choosing to ignore the mocking pet name. “The Fat Lady always goes for a stroll with her old witch friend at some point in the night. You’ll just have to meet me there when she leaves and I’ll open the portrait from the inside.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You sound like you’ve been giving it some thought.”

Dean had to look smug.

“I get bored sometimes.”

A smirk flickered on Draco’s face and then it faded away and he gazed at him; his paleness made him look sad rather than thoughtful. Dean tried to look convincing but his eyes strayed off to ogle Draco’s neck; eventually, the blond seemed to catch on and he saw a slight smile creep back up on his lips. The grey eyes were brighter now.

“We’ll see.”


	10. when the clock strikes one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning/Contents: Teenage fumbling and silliness. Soft R.

Draco couldn’t believe he was doing this. He had stayed at the library until even the Seventh years were kicked out and hidden for the remaining hour or so in their secret stairway – _So much for getting some sleep_. At ten to one he peered round the corner to see that the Fat Lady was indeed looking bored to death and she soon stood up to disappear past the edge of the frame. He stayed put, waiting for Dean to show up. After what felt like ages, the canvas moved and he edged closer.

“You there?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back.

Dean’s arm shot through the opening and yanked him in, pulling Draco’s cloak over his head to cross a very red-looking common room. They hurried up stairs and stopped in front of the boys seventh year dorm. They cast a silencing charm on Draco’s shoes and Dean carefully opened the door. They weren’t all asleep inside, judging by the lights that filtered through one of the four-poster beds, but all curtains were drawn. They crept in, holding their breaths, and slid behind Dean’s curtains hurriedly. Dean cast another set of silencing and locking charms.

Then they grinned like idiots.

“Told you it would work.”

“There were people in the common room,” Draco pointed out.

“I know, but they were too busy snogging to pay attention.”

That was probably true.

“Everything’s _red_ ,” Draco said scrunching up his nose.

“Like your dorms don’t have green curtains.”

“They do, but our common room isn’t _that_ green. Even the bloody _floor_ is red!”

Dean didn’t argue. He just grinned. It was fun. He had this childish satisfaction of having managed to sneak someone into his dorms and knowing he would get away with it. He noticed Draco wasn’t wearing his tie and felt a pang of disappointment. He frowned and leaned forward to tug Draco’s uniform robes open by the collar.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Draco drawled. “So are you.”

“I thought you weren’t going back to your dorms.”

“I got bored waiting, so I changed.”

Dean sat back, making a show of being disappointed.

“And there I was thinking I’d watch you strip for me,” he pouted.

Draco snorted. “And that is exactly why I changed before coming up here.”

“You are no fun.”

“I will not strip in a room full of Gryffindors – curtains or no curtains.”

“Wanna bet?”

They glared at each other. And then Dean sighed. “I got bored too. And we have classes tomorrow. This seventh year is killing me.”

Draco gave him a weak smile and shrugged off his robes to fold them into his school bag. He made sure nothing Slytherinish was visible and let it slip to the floor, pushing it blindly under the bed along with his shoes. Dean watched him move. When Draco turned to him he watched him too. He looked thoughtful and drawn. Dean could feel his gaze studying his body, stumbling upon the pattern of his handball T-shirt. He raised a hand to Draco’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Draco followed his lead and crawled on all fours over him, leaning down to take care of his lips.

“I’m not expecting a good night’s sleep, you know,” Draco whispered in-between kisses. “I just didn’t want my shirt to be a mess...”

A cheap comment crossed Dean’s mind but the word “mess” falling from Draco’s lips against his was giving him far more inspiring thoughts. He grabbed him by the waist and rolled them over so that they were both lying face to face, and slipped a leg between Draco’s. The contact made them both gasp. They had already groped and teased each other in hidden corners, but this was much more… comfortable. 

He opened a button of Draco’s top and buried his face in the crook of his neck, nibbling and trailing open-mouthed kisses along the bony lines he was slowly and surely becoming very fond of. He heard the blond’s breath catch in his throat. Draco was holding onto the waistband of his shorts. When they went back to snogging, he felt the hand slip in his pants with no hint of hesitation.

 _Hell yeah_ , he thought, groaning and shifting to do the same.

Feeling Draco hardening under his fingers made him unbelievably aroused. They tugged their clothes down and shuffled closer so that their cocks were touching and they could rub against each other freely. Dean’s hand went back up to grab Draco’s hair and he claimed his mouth into a searing kiss; the boy moaned, and after a moment of indecision, he took both of them in his hand, stroking hard, just the right way.

“Make us come,” Dean pleaded under his breath. “Come for me.”

He grabbed his butt to hold him close, holding back as long as he could. Draco’s first shudder was enough to send him along over the edge. Not trusting his silencing charms enough to let himself cry out, he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed it all out, lightheaded with Draco’s soft groans muffled between them.

Draco let go. Dean reached for his wand on the covers and turned out the Lumos to cast a couple of cleaning charms. When the Lumos was back on he saw Draco watching him with glinting gray eyes. Dean grinned back and pulled his pyjama bottoms back on before snuggling under the covers, trying to make room for Draco in the full-size bed. They snogged some more, but they were out before they could contemplate going for another round.

…

“Dean…” someone whispered.

Dean frowned as said someone was shaking him a little too roughly by the shoulder. Feeling Draco squirming restlessly beside him, he reluctantly opened his eyes and straightened up. Draco’s clothes and hair were rumpled. It was kind of sexy. Freaking hilarious. Wait. He also looked worried.

“What’s the matter?”

Draco turned to look at him with wild eyes and Dean heard one of his roommates rummaging through his trunk, mumbling something that was muffled through the curtains. Shit.

“How am I going to get out?” Draco mouthed.

They did _not_ think that through.


	11. the haunted corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Content: Mild angst. 18-year-olds having (non-penetrative) sex.

Draco’s footsteps echoed softly along the first-floor corridors. The castle was quiet; most of the school was out on the Quidditch pitch watching the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor game. As he walked, he could hear distant cheering and booing whenever a goal was scored or something or other happened. Though he still cared about Quidditch, he didn’t want to be near these games ever again; he wasn’t part of it anymore.

He was to meet Dean back there after the game. The Gryffindor had said the team would go celebrate their victory in the Common room and he would volunteer to close the changing rooms so they could find some time alone. Draco had rolled his eyes.

He stayed close to the windows to keep an eye on the pitch and listen out for signs of the Snitch being caught—Hooch’s whistle was always loud enough.

When he turned round the corner he suddenly froze. There was water at his feet—a huge, thin puddle of clear water that crept steadily down the dusty corridor.

He was near Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. The whole floor was dark and glistening. Through the open door, her shrill whining mingled with the sound of several taps running.

For a moment it crossed his mind to walk over there and close the taps. With his hand against the damp stone wall, he gazed out at the bathroom door. But then he turned away. He still couldn’t.

…

 

“Don’t wait for me,” Dean said, finally getting to take his Quidditch gear off. “I still need to take a shower.”

“Gonna take you that long?” the Beater teased, stuffing his jumper into his bag.

“Maybe it will,” Dean replied cheekily.

His teammate’s reply was drowned into the hiss of the showerhead. After a while, he didn’t hear anything more, so his teammate must have left. Dean lifted his face up, enjoying the warm water, not wanting to step back out in the chill air. Draco was supposed to meet him near the locker rooms; he wondered if he’d be already there. He stepped out reluctantly from the shower and grabbed a towel just in case people burst in unexpected. He walked over to the locker room, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw the dark and pale shape of Draco sitting on the bench right next to the door-less opening which led to the showers.

The blond looked up at him, the faint hint of a smirk hovering on his face. 

Dean smiled and waited for him to get up and come kiss him.

“We kicked the little snakes’ arses,” Dean said as he nibbled at his lover’s lips.

“Snakes don’t have arses,” Draco pointed out under his breath.

“So that’s why they can’t fly,” Dean said in mock epiphany. “Explains a lot.”

“Shut up,” Draco shuddered.

Dean grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into the showers where it felt warmer and more… well, if anyone burst in, they wouldn’t catch them snogging right away. He dragged Draco to the very back, wanting to get more and more action with each step. Draco cursed when he made him step in water, and they accidentally set a shower on, but Dean made him spin around and pushed him into the wall to distract him.

Draco didn’t seem cross too long, and he tasted so good it made Dean feel high.

“I want to see you,” the blond breathed, breaking the kiss to worry his ear instead. His hands were brushing lower and lower near the towel around Dean’s waist. Dean ravished his lips into another slow, breathtaking kiss, giving himself a moment to think, but his body thought faster and told him he quite liked the feel of Draco’s hands on his skin, and being completely naked might feel nice. Pulling his left hand away from Draco, he loosened the towel, which fell to the floor at once. Their eyes were still closed. Draco pulled him closer almost desperately. His half-drenched clothes felt warm and cold; it was kind of hot but also uncomfortable. He briefly drew back to look Draco in the eye and then started to undress him too.

He had never been particularly shy, and boarding school sure had killed any sense of reserve he may have had left, but it was one thing to be naked, and a whole other thing to undress a boy. He freed the buttons one by one, feeling dizzyingly aroused as the white shirt revealed pale skin. There were thin, angry scars on his chest, and a particularly nasty slash which he thought he had felt once; he gave Draco a questioning look but the blond just shook his head and claimed his mouth back.

Their tongues started to _fuck_. Within moments, Draco was naked too and they were rubbing messily against each other, panting heavily. Draco had to gasp for air, and Dean was left with his head spinning, wanting more from Draco.

He dropped to his knees, and before he even knew what he was doing, he had this wonderful cock in his mouth, and Draco let out a loud moan. Dean smirked inwardly—yes, that was more like it.

It felt so right and so fucking good. He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it but judging by the sounds that were coming from Draco’s throat and his grip on his shoulder and neck, it probably felt good; he loved what he was doing anyway, not daring to try and take it all in just yet but reveling in just swirling his tongue, sucking and stroking, fondling him, fisting himself in the process…

“Dean…”

He didn’t stop, the way his name sounded only making him moan around Draco. He barely had time to pull back when Draco came; he held him until his arm dropped, and he buried his face against Draco’s thigh as the gorgeous gasps brought him over the edge.

Draco made him move a little to the side when he dropped to the floor, and they both sat against the wall. Dean didn’t realize he was still holding his own crotch until he felt Draco nudge his hand away. He opened his eyes and their gazes met.

Draco shuffled over to straddle his lap and kissed him soundly, making Dean feel grateful that he was already on the floor, however uncomfortable the tiles were. 

“I wanted you to fuck me,” he heard Draco whisper against his mouth.

Dean moaned. “Don’t say that…”


	12. black ink

It wasn’t easy to find time and place to meet, but somehow they were making it work. As days went by, Dean felt more and more relaxed, and he was happy to have nothing else on his mind than schoolwork, drawing, and sneaking away with Draco. Sometimes he still found it a bit mad that he would be hanging out with Malfoy, and no one else was friendly with the Slytherin or even spoke to him; on the rare occasions when they would be found together in the corridors, people would speak to Dean and ignore Draco. But on the whole, they didn’t really care.

“Can I borrow your ink?”

Dean’s head shot up at Parvati’s question; the girl, who was sitting in the row just in front of theirs, had twisted on her seat and was looking sternly at Draco. Draco looked back and forth between the two Gryffindors, confused.

“I’m talking to you, Malfoy. Dean hates sharing his ink. And his isn’t the same color as mine anyway.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “Um, sure.”

Hesitantly, he pushed his inkpot towards her. She took her own to spell some ink from one pot into the other. Then, with a brief _thanks_ , she focused back to her work.

The two boys exchanged a bewildered glance. Dean wanted to kiss him right there. And get Parvati some flowers. He settled for concealing his grin behind his hand.


	13. and now for something completely different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of a threesome. And relationship status.

“Hey Parvati?”

Parvati looked up, obviously lost in her thoughts again.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “No…” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Wanna have sex?”

She blinked. And frowned. “What? Wh—”

“With two hot guys?” Dean added with a smirk he couldn’t quite suppress anymore.

He had convinced his own personal Slytherin the previous day, while they were in class and he was happily watching everyone around; the blond had looked at him as if he had grown an extra head, but then he had thought about it and eventually said _“why not.”_

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward with her fork in her hand. “ _What?_ ”

Said fork looked a little threatening, but Dean leant towards her anyway.

“My boyfriend and me…”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” she said curtly, her eyes not leaving his.

“Is this a yes?”

“Maybe. No. Shut up. I don’t know. Why would you ask me something like that?”

“To cheer you up,” he glared back, mimicking her stern expression.

Her eyes widened and she drew back a little. And then she chuckled. And then she laughed, a bright smile finally back on her face.

She wiped the corner of her eyes with the tips of her fingers, her shoulders still shaking; it was totally worth it.

“So?” Dean grinned.

“Shut up, Dean. I can’t believe I’m even considering this… Who’s your boyfriend?” She asked again, narrowing her eyes again, standing her ground.

Dean frowned. Wasn’t it obvious? Good. It seemed pretty obvious to him. Not that he didn’t want to turn Hogwarts into a musical and shout it out loud to the world… Parvati sighed.

“Okay. I think I know… He really is your boyfriend, is he?”

Dean paused. “Huh. Yeah, I guess so. I just said it, didn’t I?”

She smiled fondly.

“OK,” she said. “Let me… process the information.”

He kind of needed a moment, too. It seemed strange to think of Malfoy as his boyfriend—or did it? It hadn’t felt strange to say it. He kind of preferred hot lover, though.

Whatever.

Parvati cast a quick glance over her shoulder and Dean knew for sure that she knew, though they had never discussed it before. He realized that he had been afraid to broach the subject, fearing that it would ruin something, somehow, or make things more complicated; it was sort of a relief now to have his new relationship with Draco acknowledged in a way; he hadn’t suspected that he wanted to talk to Parvati about it so badly.

It took him a second to remember what the conversation was about in the first place. Parvati picked up her pumpkin juice and took a sip, frowning thoughtfully.

“You two are committed, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I guess…”

“You guess?”

“I mean, yes. We are.”

“I’m assuming it was your idea.”

Need he answer that…

“And he's OK with it,” she went on.

“Yeah.”

“You talked this through?”

“ _Yes…_ ”

She paused again.

“Oh, what the hell. We’re graduating soon, aren’t we?”

Dean grinned. It was on.


	14. prism perfect

Dean needed a break from his Transfiguration essay. On the other side of the table, his study partner seemed to be engrossed in theoretical Potions. He tried to figure out what he was working on but quickly let it drop and pulled out yet another portrait of Parvati he’d been drawing. He wasn’t happy with it. She was lying on a window sill in a boy’s uniform, with her knees up and an arm resting on her stomach while her other arm was thrown over her eyes. He just couldn’t get her face right, though he’d already resorted to have the arm cover half of it up, and when he’d tried to spell it to make it move, the face just shook and erased itself, leaving a blur; one of her legs twisted and seemed to dislocate itself. At that point he just wanted to put colors everywhere and hide the imperfections. 

“You keep drawing her,” 

Dean looked up. Malfoy was watching him, his gaze even. Dean held his gaze for a second before looking at the portrait of Parvati 

“Yeah, I know. I’m obsessed with her.” 

He looked back to the portrait, and then back again to Malfoy. 

“She sits for me sometimes. 

He drew a lot of people, but he did draw Parvati a lot more than the others; his other drawings were mostly class scenes or magical creatures; he had one of Malfoy but it wasn’t finished yet. 

“Sometimes I feel like I can read everything that needs to be said on her face.” 

Malfoy said nothing. Dean bit his lip thoughtfully. 

“Plus, she’s hot,” he said looking up with a smirk, hoping to have elicited a knowing look or a smirk of Malfoy’s own. 

It hadn’t. The other boy just looked at him, uncertain, and with a vague hum of assent he went back to his research. For a split second, Dean felt disappointed, but then he shrugged the feeling away and proceeded to color the bad picture. 

…

It was funny, now that he thought of it, how things had evolved since then. Back then, Draco had been so sure Parvati was the only thing Dean ever thought about. Now he knew Dean was still obsessed, but not like that. Parvati was the subject of his most elaborate drawings but his drawing pad was thick with quick portraits and details and creatures of all sorts—whatever caught his eye or crossed his mind.

They were sitting outside in the park, in the shadow of the East wall, their legs close, and Dean had let him take his folder and browse through the collaged pages. Draco wasn’t sure whether the sheer quantity of it made him sick or awed.

Dean’s hand appeared and grabbed several pages at once, expertly yet unceremoniously, until he found one in particular. “Look at this one.”

It was him, reading a book with a quill in his hand, presumably at the library.

“Merlin, do I look depressed,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose.

Dean chuckled. “Yea, but look what happens when I make it move.”

He flicked his wand over the drawing and his charcoal self slowly, almost imperceptibly looked up, shooting an intense look—of longing?—at whomever was facing him.

Draco shuddered. “Did you actually see me do that?” he dared ask, his voice faint.

“Not when I did it,” said Dean, smirking in a way that made Draco feel self-conscious. “I think—maybe I wanted you to look like that, and it just showed when I charmed the parchment. Isn’t it hot?”

Draco felt torn.

“I feel naked.”

Dean’s smirk altered.

“Yea, shut up,” Draco said, looking away.

Dean took his hand, drawing Draco’s attention again. He just gazed at their loosely entwined fingers, brushing his thumb over Draco’s knuckle, still smiling.

“Never show it to anyone,” Draco said. “And I mean, not even Parvati. Or, Merlin forbid, _Finnigan_ … Please.”

Dean’s small grin never left.

“I won’t.”


End file.
